


N1

by Clayla



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Louis, Child, F/M, GangAU, Healing, I repeat, Injury, Lilo friendship, M/M, MafiaAU, Major injuries, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Mpreg, Mpreg Louis, New York City, OT5 Friendship, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Pregnant Louis, Rivalry, Top Harry, Unhealthy Habits, Violence, larrystylinson, louis is adopted, narry friendship, possible ziam, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-01 01:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clayla/pseuds/Clayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis couldn't be more different. Louis was an uncensored mouth, yet always keeping his true feelings in. Harry speaks with reason, but lets his emotions pour out. Born into rival mafias, friendship could not remotely spark. But, when a tragic incident occurs, differences may be put aside.</p><p>Larry Stylinson</p><p> </p><p>Trigger warnings inside, please read tags. Also, if mpreg is not your thing, well, uh, probably shouldn't click this :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you dearly for reading! Please read trigger warnings, and don't read if it bothers you :)

_“Li, promise you won’t tell my dad.”_

_“I-I-”_

_“-Liam, please.”_

_“... okay.”_


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger/Warnings:
> 
> -language  
> -panic attacks  
> -violence  
> -character death

“What do you mean ‘it didn’t work’?”

Louis flinched as specks of spit flew at his face. Next to him, Liam wore a straight mask, sitting with elegant posture in the cushy office chair, unfazed. 

“It just didn’t work, sir.” Liam restated, as Marc paced back and forth behind his tall oak desk, his face a deep shade of beet red and huffing as he prognosed the situation in his head. Liam stared straight ahead as Louis slumped in his chair, eyes gliding over the office for any new collections. His father, Marc, had a thing for collecting little trinkets here and there from the runs. A polished snow globe, of which a golden angel flew within, sat in the corner of Marc’s desk, apparently the first piece to his collection way back from his first run as a teenager. Even after he stopped stealthing out himself, Marc always made sure Louis or any of the others reaped back a little something extra from a big job. Sometimes, the trinkets weren’t so little, like the large original Cezanne that hung on the wall behind where Marc paced, something that Louis had snuck out during the raiding of the De Santo house. Although the painting nearly lead to his death of tripping down the three flights of stairs at the De Santo mansion while trying to see over the large gold encrusted frame, the gleam of pride in his father’s eyes when he received it on his birthday was worth double the flights of stairs. But, last night’s run had not gone nearly as smoothly.

“Okay, look you two.” Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, having finally gathered his thoughts. “Do you know why I sent your team out on this run?”

Liam shakes his head. “No sir.” he says, although he very much knew why. Marc asked the same question every time. It was just common ground that when Marc was mad, there was no such thing as a right answer.

“It’s because,” Marc pauses mid-step, pivoting to face the two assassins, “Your team has Zayn, Eleanor, Leigh-Anne, and then you two. A team of my best shooters, combatants, and infiltrators. Of all the houses I could have sent you all last night, I chose the Harvor house because we couldn’t risk a failure. But _no_ , the Archids show up and the five of you let _them_ , the filthy lowlife Archids, take the deposit and assassinate Harvor. How-” Marc cuts off, unable to muster words. He lets out a long grievous groan, and slumps down on his leather swivel chair. “Look, we’ll take last night’s failure, but I have another run tonight for your team at the Stover estate. I sent the coordinates and background to Eleanor, so let her debrief you when you meet up. Now, we cannot, I repeat _cannot_ fail this mission. We needed last night’s deposit, but tonight’s will suffice. If you all couldn’t take on the Archids yesterday, I don’t know how you all will deal with a very likely run in with Serendipity tonight.” 

Louis groaned. Serendipity, a long rival of their family’s Trinity, didn’t play as dirty as the Archids, but were sneaky bastards nonetheless. Really good sneaky bastards. Not to mention, Louis had a running thing with the mafia’s head’s son, Harry Styles. Ever since the first time they bumped into each other back when they were eighteen, there’s always been a competition on who could leave the other more injured without killing them. It was tricky, for it took all of Louis not to fling out his knife and slice that bastard’s head off. Killing each other, despite the joys it would bring, would only spark war, and just like Americans and Russians did back in the cold war, the Trinity and Serendipity knew it would only lead to their own demise. However, that didn’t mean they couldn't leave a few kicks and scratches here and there.

“I expect you all to be ready for tonight. And please,” Marc pauses, running a palm through his thinning hair, “do not fail. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” Louis and Liam stated back in unison. Marc gave one last sigh before waving them away with his hand,

“You two are dismissed.”

***

It’s ten in the evening when Louis steps up to the dirt smudged ordering window of the run down Chinese restaurant. Run down might not be the right term for it, however, since Louis doubts it ever had any glory days to run down from. Packed in between towering abandoned buildings and above the inhabited underground garbage disposals, _Wok in Wok Out_ (the name still gets Louis every time) lied in the heart of New York’s realm of poverty, drugs, and crime. Louis himself did not fancy the scene, but the Chinese food was to die for, sometimes a little too literally, for Louis had quite a few guns pointed at him along the way.

Louis tapped the dirty glass with his knuckle, waiting for the middle aged woman who immigrated here two years ago to emerge from the depths of the kitchen. Despite it being ten at night, the restaurant didn’t have an official closing time, since only the woman and her husband occupied the small store, and could always use any extra cash. After a few gun shots a year ago, they boarded up the front door and moved in a thick glass window with a small slit at the bottom to usher out the hot styrofoam boxes of takeout. Louis always had a soft spot for the couple, since he himself was picked up off the streets by a young Marc, whose heart hadn’t quite hardened yet.

From the darkness behind the glass, the woman, her greasy hair swept up into a bun, emerged. Louis flashed her a “two” with his fingers, as coordinated with the item on the ripped tattered menu, printed with descriptions of the Chinese zodiac signs, taped up next to the glass. The woman nodded, before stepping back into the darkness. 

Louis clasped his hands behind his back, nose wrinkling at the odors arising from the open sewers. He rolled back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, keeping his eyes trained on his reflection in the glass; no one liked stares. He noted the stubble finally growing in now that he was twenty-two. _Finally_. From way back when, that bastard Harry would always taunt him a twink whenever they bumped into each other. It wasn’t Louis’ fault, however, that he just so happened to be a bit on the smaller side. Besides, everyone was shorter than the six foot jumble of limbs on stilts with an extra inch of curly hair. It was Louis’ fault, however, that he had his hair cut _that_ way, that very much made him look like a twink, not that he’d ever admit.

From behind the glass, the husband emerges this time, his bald head slick with sweat, sliding the styrofoam box through the slit in the glass across the dirty counter. Louis fumbles in his pocket, fishing out crumpled wads of bills, sliding them beneath the slit. The husband counts the bills and disappears without so much as a nod, not that he ever does. Louis briskly walks head down through the garbage piled streets until he reaches the sleek black van stowed away behind a grey towering building. Sliding open the back seat door, he is confronted with the scent of car fresheners. He plops down on a leather seat, as Zayn twists around from the driver’s position.

“Ready?” Zayn asks, as Louis slides closed the door. In the back, Eleanor already has her laptop out, hooked to various wires on the wall, typing furiously. Riding shot-gun, Leigh-Anne picks at the scuffed corner of her pistol. Besides him, Liam stuffs in the remainder of his apple salad they picked up on the way here. Louis nods.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

***

“Okay, it’s hooked up.” Eleanor’s voice whispers from the clip in Louis’ ear. From inside the van, she had the three story house’s security cameras hooked up on her laptop, as she watched in black and white Louis’ figure swing through the first story kitchen window. On the far other side of the estate, Liam and Zayn ducked behind a shed, snipers in hand. 

“Okay, L.A’s going out.” Eleanor speaks into the mic as Leigh-Anne eases open the van door, stealthing to where Louis was previously situated.

“L.T, how’s it in there?”

Louis crouches on the balls of his feet in the elegant kitchen bathed in moonlight. It was always a shame such beautiful houses had to be harmed on these runs.

“It’s good.” Louis whispers into his mic, as he searched for the kitchen doorway. Finding the framed gap in the wall, he peered around to see the wide empty hallway, bare of any picture frames or lights. From the faint moonlight, he could make out a white set of spiraling stairs.

“Got the stairs.” Louis says, moving in. Now, if their information was accurate, then all Louis had to do was amble up those stairs, take a right into the bedroom, and put a bullet through Stover’s head as Leigh-Anne took care of any security and Liam along with Zayn did surveillance from afar. Then, he’d move in and snatch the deposit, supposedly under the bathroom counter. Bingo, no all he had to worry about was-

Cold metal pressed against Louis’ temple. He knew better than to be surprised, for this had become too often of an occurrence. Swiftly, he dropped to the waxed hardwood floor, supporting his body on his arms as his legs swung out, kicking the man behind him from out under his feet. The man picked himself up as soon as he hit the floor, springing up and aiming a kick at Louis’ stomach, which he dodged as he bent backwards. He elbowed the man in his ribs, sending him back with a grunt, before breaking from his former stealth and sprinting through the hall to the dark stairs blindly.

“Dammit, the Serendipity are here.” Louis grumbled at Eleanor’s questions firing in his ear.

“Well, fuck. Bring in Z.M.” Eleanor huffs, as Zayn moves out from behind the shed to the large mansion in the middle of the estate. “L.P, stay put.” Eleanor commands to Liam. The communication line was now filled with a long sigh. “Okay guys, let’s show them who’s house this is.”

Louis lands on the second floor as thudding footsteps follow him. A large window sat where the first set of stairs ended, and just when he started on the second flight, Leigh-Anne’s shriek came from downstairs, penetrating the silence of the night. 

“L.A? L.A? You in?” Louis demands into his mic. 

“L.A’s fine.” Eleanor responds quickly. “Shit, L.T, behind you.”

On cue, Louis’s breath is knocked out as a large figure tackled him to the ground, his head banging heavily against a step. Louis rolled out from under and made out a head of curls in the moonlight. 

“Dammit, Styles.” Louis cursed as the figure grins at his interference, before launching at him again. This time, Louis dodges, but not without feeling the fresh cold sting as a blade sliced across his side. Louis grunted as he switched out his own blade, flinging it at Harry as he ducked, the knife jabbing into the cornflower blue wallpaper behind him with a thick thud.

“L.T, L.T, come in.” Eleanor repeated as Louis flung a kick at Harry’s chest, sending him reeling into the window, hand grasping the curtain, effectively ripping the cloth. Louis snatched the opportunity, darting up the last set of stairs, heavy footsteps following. 

“Who’s here from Serendipity?” Eleanor asks, as Louis stops abruptly on the third floor. Instead of a hall as planned, Louis is immediately greeted with a large dark sitting room lit only by a large ornate window, and a middle aged man standing in the center, pistol pointed at Louis’ head: Stover.

“Niall Horan’s here.” Zayn responds to Eleanor.

“Sophia Smith and Perrie Edwards are in the back.” Liam notifies.

Louis stays silent, slowly raising his hands up, cursing internally. The mission was planned perfectly. No doubt Stover head all the noise Serendipity made downstairs. 

“Remove all your weapons.” the man barks, voice gruff. Downstairs, Louis can hear Harry’s footsteps cease at the sound of Stover’s voice. Slowly, Louis untucks a gun from his belt, dropping it onto the floor with a heavy clunk, kicking it away.

“Is that all you have?” the man questions, gun still raised. Louis nods. The man, cloaked in a suit even at this time of the hour, smirks. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” he states more than asks. Louis glares at the middle aged man, whose wife and kids were probably asleep only a few yards away. The man steps nearer, slowly lowering his gun. Louis could smell the rich cologne on the man as he approaches. Louis stands still. He’s not about to give up ground anytime soon. He does shiver, however, when the man is only a few inches away, his body heat radiating off as he towers over Louis.

“You’re here for the deposit, aren’t you?” the man spits, raising the gun and placing it against Louis’ chest. Even through the cloth of his shirt, Louis could feel the piercing cold metal. 

“L.T, Z.M is going into the bedroom for the deposit from the outside. L.P’s got Stover on target. I need you to stall.” Eleanor instructs. Louis swallows silently, staring right back at Stover’s coal black eyes. Stover’s eyes narrow, his lips settling into a thin line. Louis knows what he should do, and blinks, his hard blue eyes now replaced with a coat of innocence.

“P-please don’t hurt me.” Louis pleads, whimpers seeping into his voice. In his mind, he frowns in disgust, while a wide sick grin spreads out across Stover’s chapped lips. He doesn’t remove the gun, but places a large cold grip on Louis’ hip saddling up closer, before sliding up beneath Louis’ shirt, running his rough palms over the smooth skin of Louis’ abdomen. Louis wills himself to relax, before Stover’s palm nudges into the sheathed dagger tucked at his side. Louis freezes. Stover’s face wretches in anger, shoving Louis back.

“Speak, boy. Are you here for the deposit?” the man barks, pressing the gun back harder into Louis’ chest. 

“Yes.” Louis replies, voice raspy from staying silent for so long, begging the gods that he had stalled long enough. “But that’s not the only thing we’re taking.”

Confusion washes over the man’s face before the glass window behind the man shatters,. However, it is the bullet that comes from behind Louis as the ducks that lodges in Stover’s throat. Right as Louis turns around, he bumps straight into a solid chest. Rough hands grasp his shoulders, slamming him into the wooden floor of glass shards.

“Speak, Tomlinson!” Harry demands, his voice low and rumbly, hot gun still in hand. His bright green eyes stare lasers into Louis. “Where is the deposit?”

Louis curls up his legs and kicks Harry off, who stumbles back, his firearm flying out across the floor. Harry reaches to his belt for some concealed weapon before they both freeze at the sound of heavy footsteps below: security.

“Shit, Niall, forget the deposit. I’ll be with you in a sec.” Harry commands into his mic, before frantically running his hands across the dark room for his gun. A single piece of evidence, and it could all be over. Louis quickly eases up from where the glass shards bit into the flesh of his back. He leans on his palms, a bit dizzy from hitting his head against the hardwood. Beside him, Stover’s eyes stare blankly at Louis, his body sprawled on the floor and the flesh of his neck gaping open, spurting out thick red blood. Louis shivers, feeling the ghost of Stover’s fingers trailing on his skin, and-

Louis shakes his head, but his arms start shaking, panic seizing him. His eyes widen as his ears fill with the sound of his own frantic gasping and thudding heartbeat over Eleanor repeatedly calling for him to get out. Louis knows somewhere in his mind that he should be getting the hell away, but his body has frozen, and he just _can’t_ breathe!

Harry whips up from where he fished out the gun from beneath a couch, frowning at where Louis still lay, shaking. Harry cautiously inched closer, eyes flying wide in alarm at Louis’ gasping breaths.

“Tomlinson?” Harry calls out, voice shaking slightly. Louis doesn’t notice him at all. Harry darts his head around the room, knowing the security will find them any minute now. “Tomlinson!” Harry shouts loud enough for only Louis to hear, but he barely acknowledges him. _What the hell?_ Harry thinks. He knew Louis was a strange fellow, but this was just downright creepy.

“Harry, are you here?” Niall speaks in Harry’s ear. Harry ignores it, slipping his earbud off and replacing it with Louis.

“LOUIS! God dammit! Where are you?” Eleanor screeches, with the sound of Liam panicking in the background.

“Hello?” Harry asks.

“LOUIS THANK- wait, who the hell-”

“-it’s Harry Styles. Just tell me where you’re van is.” Harry interrupts, heart pounding faster as the second ticks by.

“What the hell? Where’s Louis? What are-”

“Just tell me where the fuck your van is!” Harry exclaims, lifting Louis up onto his feet. Louis stumbles a bit, arms grasping himself tightly. Suddenly, Harry knows exactly what’s wrong, and grabs Louis tightly, scooping him up into his arms. “I have Louis.” he adds into the mic. A brief pause flits on the other side of the line. 

“North side, next to the tall oak tree.” Eleanor states. Harry sighs.

“I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please tell me if you like this storyline, and how you want pairing to go as far as Sophia, Perrie, Niall, Zayn, Liam, and anyone else. Thank you :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, so please tell me if there are any errors, thank you!

Although Harry’s features were as stoic as carved stone and his eyes were unwavering as they scanned across the mountains of crates and boxes, his heart thumped heavily in his chest so that, if it weren’t for experience, he would have thought the beat was echoing off the cold stone walls of the factory. In Harry’s mind, he could hear his father reminding him with a stern expression on his face, “when you can’t shoot them, when you have no idea what’s going on, or when everything is just falling apart, don’t let them see weakness. Weakness is what they want.”

Right now, Harry has no idea what’s going on.

According to Harry’s father, some middle aged man who had borrowed a large sum of money and never payed back would be here tonight bargaining yet again with another gang foolish enough (just like Harry’s father) to trust this man considering his track record of financial infidelity. 

Now, what Harry anticipated was a clean hassle-free job without the curling smoke from gunfire and quick enough so that maybe he could squeeze in an hour of Netflix before going to bed at three. All he had to do was bust into an old warehouse, seek out a middle-aged balding man running around with a briefcase of money, knock him out, and then take the money. Simple enough.

What Harry didn’t expect was for ominous claps of thunder in the distance earlier to actually amount to a thunderstorm strong enough to trigger a power outage, effectively cutting his connections with Ed back in the van and Niall, who is supposedly roaming blindly somewhere in the other side of the factory with a vast darkness of crates between them. At least Harry had brought a small flashlight; Niall hadn’t so much as brought a small pistol, insisting that he was just back up, and Harry would get the job done in no time. 

With the white beam of the flashlight, Harry could make out the endless aisles of large crates stacked on top of each other, each with an old faded company name stamped on the side. The ceiling above him was tall, and the metal pattered loudly from the pounding rain outside. It put Harry on edge, for he could no longer hear for footsteps, much less concentrate on his own breathing. For a brief moment, Harry could understand why his sister, Gemma, would want to lead an ordinary life graduating from university and establishing a solid career in fashion rather than stumbling around blindly searching for a man to knock out. But then again, Harry has always wanted adventure, and nothing screamed adrenaline pumping heart thumping action than running around an abandoned factory at one in the morning.

Harry stealths through another aisle, before squinting his eyes at the distance. He flips his flashlight off, and his eyebrows raise once he sees the small ball of yellow light in the distance. Harry sighs in relief. At last, target found.

Harry reaches to tap on his mic, before remembering the connection was cut. With a shrug, he tiptoed closer, keeping a hand close to the gun strapped to his belt. He makes sure his breathing is even, even though no one could hear him with the pounding rain outside. Slowly, the ball of light gets larger, and Harry makes out the snippets of two voices gliding over the boisterous pattering on the roof. 

“I pay it back in a month… … no, just a … ... “ comes the snippets of a nasal voice, sounding on the verge of frustration. Then, a softer, lighter voice floats through the air like a distant hum, settling an odd calm over the pounding rain. It reminds Harry of his youth, when he would stay cuddled up under his thick sheets at night while his parents and Gemma argued about her going into fashion outside. He remembers how his father’s words always came out in a sharp bark, with Gemma’s words hissing like venom right after him. He could always hear every word they said, and they stabbed the calm night air. Then, when both his dad and Gemma finally seemed out of breath, his mom would step in with her soft, steady murmur, of which Harry could never make out her words, but would always fall asleep soon after.

Harry shakes his mind out of his reverie, zeroing in on the light that was now at most fifteen feet away from him. It was from, of the oddest of things, an old decorated lamp, with an ornate glass lampshade and a marble carved base. If it had been any other time, Harry might have struck up a deal for the lamp, bringing it home to his mother. The lamp sat on a cargo box, of which two dark figures sat across from each other. Harry’s sucks in a breath as his eyes land on the stacks of bills piled on the box.

Harry moves his right hand to the other gun on his belt, fishing out two tranquilizers from his pocket. Although the blackout had seemed to be a major disadvantage at first, Harry couldn’t have asked for a better scenario. He almost chuckled gleefully. In front of him was a nice clearing where his two targets sat unaware like sitting ducks. All he had to do was fire two quick shots at the dark silhouettes, take the money, call out for Niall, maybe order a pizza, and hit home for Netflix. Nothing could go-

A whirring buzz vibrates throughout the warehouse. 

The long hanging lights above rise to full life, their white glare seeming to sear into Harry’s skin and eyes. For a second, he covers his eyes in pain, still seeing bright spots in his vision. When Harry remembers his surroundings, he looks up to be faced with the end of a gun, held by a shaky hand.

It’s Albert Napers, or “the middle aged man.” Somehow, he looks exactly like how Harry imagined him: bald, sharp angry eyebrows, and with a bit of a beer belly. The man is dressed quite formally in a rumpled white collared shirt and black pants. He is nearly as tall as Harry, just missing the few inches Harry gains from, admittedly, his thick curls of hair. Stacks of green bills had scattered to the floor, from which Harry assumed the man had knocked over when he stood up abruptly. Without a thought, Harry’s hands fly up into the air.

“He’s with you, isn’t he?” the nasal man barks, anger flickering over his eyes. For a second Harry is confused, before his eyes land on the smaller man still sitting on a red milk crate, his feathery brown hair grazing by his sharp blue eyes. 

Harry has to admit, he didn’t think the Trinity would consider Albert Napers a person worth spending time dealing with. Sure, his own father made the same mistake, but somehow Harry has developed very high expectations of the Trinity, possibly because they always come in somehow to ruin Serendipity’s plans. And, as of current, Louis Tomlinson is ruining Harry’s plans, _again._

The last time Harry bumped into Louis Tomlinson nearly three months ago, it lead to him scaling through the broken window and down the side of the Stover mansion with the other man on his back, trembling from the aftershocks of a panic attack. It was probably one of the stupidest things Harry has ever done and he’s still not sure why he did it. He nearly lost his footing three times, which would have painfully and shamefully ended both of their lives. Yet, Harry can’t quite bring himself to regret what he did. 

“I knew this was set up!” the man screams angrily, the gun still shakily pointed at Harry. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Louis eases up slowly, “I don’t know what he is doing here, and I have no affiliations with him, but-”

“You too, be quiet!” the man shouts red faced. It’s clear that the man isn’t too confident with handling a weapon, but it doesn’t take a mastermind to aim and shoot. 

“You, drop your weapons.” the man orders at Harry, who promptly unstrapped his gun and tranquilizer, kicking them a small distance away. If the man were to fire, all Harry needed to do was take a dive to the floor, snatch his gun, and shoot. At the worst, he could get a bruised rib. 

The man shifts his gun to Louis, who stares unfazed at the red faced man.

“You too. I know I saw a gun somewhere.”

Louis slides a sleek black gun seemingly out of nowhere, kicking it aside and letting it clatter on the floor just as Harry had done. The man keeps his eyes on Louis, with nervous glances ever so often at Harry. Harry keeps his arms raised. If Harry’s experiences has taught him anything, it is that trust is the key to betrayal. 

“Now, I am going to take the money, while you two don’t move. Is that clear?” the man dictated. 

Harry and Louis nod.

The man seems satisfied enough, slowly lowering his gun and bending over the floor to snatch up the bills that had scattered. Harry’s eyes dart to his gun on the grey concrete floor. Is was now or never, and Harry would rather not go home empty-handed. 

It really was a day for pure bad luck, for once again, Harry’s plan has been foiled. Apparently great minds really do think alike, for just as Harry dived down, so did Louis. With the whirlwind of action around him, the man snaps up immediately before Harry could even get a hand on his gun.

“FREEZE!” the man hollers. Harry freezes right where he lays on the solid floor with a arm extended to his gun only a few inches away from his fingertips. He tilts his head, expecting to see the end of the man’s gun pointed at his forehead. Instead, what he saw couldn’t have been better.

Louis, who had been closer to the man, was now in the man’s headlock, with the end of the man’s gun pressed against his forehead.

“If you move, I’ll blow his brains out!” the man threatens. Apparently the man still thought they worked for each other, which was fine by Harry. Truly, Harry did not give a fuck about anyone’s life outside of those he cares about. In fact, the man would be unknowingly doing him a favor. No Louis Tomlinson means no more interruptions on jobs and trudging home shamefully knowing he had once again been bested by his long time rival. The only reason why Harry hadn’t already tried to kill Louis Tomlinson was to prevent an outright war between Serendipity and Trinity. As long as Harry isn’t the one to kill Louis, he’s fine. Yes, Harry will admit he feels some sort of sentimental sadness for the ending of a long time rivalry, but Harry would very much like to walk away with his life on this one, and all he needs to do grab his gun and fire at the man. Then, when the police finally came around and found two bodies, they would just assume they had somehow managed to kill each other, and Harry was in no way involved. 

Louis is silent, and if he is as smart as Harry thinks he is, then he probably knows exactly what Harry is going to do next. Although Harry prefers not to meet the eyes of his victims in their last moments, he decides to spare Louis Tomlinson one last glance.

Harry expected Louis’ blue eyes to be seething, or mildly annoyed at the least. Louis Tomlinson never seemed much like one who would beg at their last moments of life. No, he was the kind of guy who would go down giving a death stare, as if annoyed he couldn’t have been killed him in a more dramatic way. However, instead of glaring at Harry, his eyes held some sort of fragility Harry didn’t think anyone in the mafia business could hold. It was almost as if his eyes were pleading, showing a vulnerability Harry isn’t sure he will ever be able to erase from his mind. Harry couldn’t take the stare anymore, drifting his eyes down, unknowingly making the greatest mistake of his life, to where Louis Tomlinson grasped a round bump on his stomach in his hands. Harry’s breath hitches.

At first Harry tried to convince himself that Louis Tomlinson had simply spent way too many afternoons on a couch with a bag of crisps, or that perhaps that Niall had slipped something funny into his sandwich earlier and now he was hallucinating, but in the end, there was no denying that if Harry were to go through with his plans right now, he would be leaving three bodies behind this night. Harry might be the heir of an all powerful merciless mafia, but he has a firm rule against killing children. 

Harry slowly pushes himself off the chilly floor, making sure to keep his hands up while steadily gazing at the man. He can feel Louis’ curious gaze following him, and Harry feels in the pit of his stomach a bit of shame knowing that Louis actually thought Harry would kill an unborn child for the sake of a job. The middle aged man smirks knowingly at Harry.

“If you want anyone to make it out of this alive, then put all the money in the suitcase, and hand it to me.” the man commands, pleased with his new power. Harry does as the man wishes, bending over and sweeping up the stray packs of bills. He finds the large briefcase by the crate and quickly shoves the money in. He’s close enough to Louis to catch the soft scent of coconut shampoo, and briefly wonders if Louis ever considered using pineapple conditioner to get pina colada hair. 

_Woah, not the time,_ Harry berates himself, wondering if perhaps Niall _did_ put something in his sandwich at lunch.

Harry files the notes into the briefcase slowly and with more care than he does his laundry while his mind spins with ways to get out of this alive and with the money. All the while, his heart hammers in his ears. If only he had his gun, or at least-

A whistle rings loud and clear into the air.

_Niall._

Sure enough, Harry cocks his head up to see the blonde headed boy with a smile too bright for the situation. The middle aged man’s head snaps behind him to the direction of the whistle, and as if in slow motion, Harry watches the man’s mouth curl into a frown at Niall as Louis’ elbow jabs back, connecting with the man’s stomach with enough force to send him stumbling back. Harry winces as the man’s hand reaches out, knocking the lamp onto the concrete, the glass shattering and splintering into thousands of pieces. Amidst the blur of movements, a cry rings out, as Louis flings a dagger into the man’s chest. With a heavy thud, the man slumps to the floor in a pool of blood.

Then it’s quiet, save for the heavy breaths and pattering of the rain. No one quite moves until Louis steps up to the dead man’s body and kneels down, yanking the dagger out of the man’s chest.

“Well, he definitely got the short end of the deal.” Niall pipes up, before taking in the solemn haze of the room. He chuckles nervously. “Uh, was that too soon?”

Louis lets out a weak chuckle and Harry snaps his head up in surprise. He had never heard Louis laugh before. Hell, their social exchange usually never went beyond a few swear words and angry shouts, mostly due to the fact they were constantly trying to ruin each other’s jobs. It was almost unnerving to think that Louis had a different side beyond his cold-blooded killer side. 

Without another word, Louis turned on his heels towards the back exit of the warehouse. 

“Wait! Tomlinson!” Harry startles himself, reaching a hand out and grasping the sleeve of Louis’ jacket. Louis turns around with passive look on his face that almost makes Harry feel guilty for intruding on his time. “You… you forgot the money.” Harry trips out, not even sure what in the world he was saying. He could feel Niall’s questioning stare burn on the back of his neck. Harry couldn’t help but take this opportunity to quickly glance down to the slight baby bump on Louis’ stomach. The sight was still a shock to Harry. Never in a million years would Harry have guessed Louis to be a carrier. In his mind, Louis Tomlinson was shelved alongside things like death and torture. Babies were on a shelf miles away. 

“You keep it.” 

Harry nearly misses Louis words. Niall doesn’t, however, and immediately starts packing up the money. Once again, Louis starts to the door, and Harry can’t help but mentally slap himself as he reaches out again.

“Wait! I-” Louis slows, tilting his head back “-I… I can’t let walk in the rain alone.” Harry says. “It’s not good for the baby.” Harry adds, and Louis visibly stiffens. 

“Who said I was walking?” Louis retorts. Harry feels like slapping himself. Of course, who walks to old warehouses at night anyway? 

“We did surveillance. There were no other vehicles.” Niall pipes up behind them, suitcase already slung over his shoulder. Harry struggles to push down the blooming hope that the definitely shouldn’t be feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Okay.” Louis finally surrenders, voice tinted with an edge of defeat. 

With that, the three of them treck through the maze of crates until they reached the back door Niall had originally come through. Not a word was shared between the three of them as they hiked to the dirty van hidden behind an outgrowth of trees and bushes. Niall slid open the door first, flinging in the briefcase of money. 

“Ed! Lost contact with ye for a second there.” Niall chimes as he situates himself in the van. Harry ducks in to see the ginger headed man sigh in relief from his seat at the wheel.

“Thought I lost you all there. Thank god-” Ed cuts off upon seeing Louis step in. He sends a questioning stare at Harry as Louis keeps his head down and slides into the back seat. Harry clears his throat awkwardly.

“We’re giving him a ride.” Harry says. He nearly laughs at how ridiculous his words are. College frat mates give each other rides, not decade old mortal rivals. Ed hesitates, before igniting the engine. With the passenger seat taken by Niall, Harry sighs and slips in next to Louis in the back. 

They ride in silence, not that they could really carry on a conversation with how loud the rain was. Sometime after nearing the more populated parts of the city, Louis pulled out a small white packet, and Harry couldn’t help but widen his eyes as Louis pulled out a white cigarette. Without even a blink, Louis flips out a lighter and gives it a flick, lighting up the cigarette. Harry’s spine itches with unease. Just as Louis goes for the first puff, Harry whips out a hand and snatches the cigarette from his hands, stubbing the light against the old upholstery of the seat.

“Y-you can’t do that.” Harry stutters, wondering where in hell his calm demeanor had wandered off to. Louis looks at him with unguarded surprise, his mouth slightly agape. Harry’s almost sure he’s bound to get a punch, but instead Louis turns to the window, leaving Harry to hold the cigarette in silence. Before long, they reach the heart of the city, and Louis speaks up, telling them to let him off next to a subway station. 

As Harry watched Louis’ retreating figure, he couldn’t ignore the tugging hope to meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is long overdue :(  
> But enjoy!

Harry couldn’t believe what he was doing. 

Typically, Harry’s Saturday nights were spent out with Niall at a pub somewhere in the city or in bed early, gazing up at the rough textured ceiling of his apartment with the covers crumpled at his feet due to the summer heat. But no, it was almost two in the morning (so technically it was a Monday morning), and Harry was lying on his stomach propped up by his elbows on his bed, staring with irritated red eyes at his laptop screen, studying safety precautions to take during pregnancy.

He has been there for three hours.

It all started out with a simple search of what a three month pregnant belly looked like. Then the suggestion bar showed _pregnancy stages_ , and then _pregnancy quotes_ , and, well, it all went downhill from there. And now here he was, looking up safety precautions for pregnancy and trying his best to ignore the nagging worry in the pit of his gut he most definitely should not be feeling. 

_The first three months of pregnancy is the most crucial stage in your baby's development as all organs are forming. Throughout your pregnancy, but especially during the first three months, be very careful about using alcohol, drugs and medication._

Harry’s eyes burned and were most likely watering, but he kept scrolling down the page. 

_No caffeine_

_No smoking_

_No alcohol_

_No medication_

_Limit seafood consumption_

_Well, shit,_ Harry cursed to himself. If the pictures on Google images served as an accurate medium of comparison, then Louis Tomlinson was probably somewhere along three months along, and half of the precautions were practically the code by which Louis Tomlinson lived by. 

Harry couldn’t restrain the nerves anymore as words like _fetal alcohol syndrome_ and _sudden infant death syndrome_ circled around in his head. 

The small white digits in the corner of his laptop finally flickered to two o’clock, and with a great sigh, Harry slammed his laptop shut. Within the darkness of his bedroom, Harry could still see a bright spot from staring at the computer screen for far too long. It was truly a combination of miracles and good genes that has gotten Harry this far in life without needing glasses. 

Harry lied on top of the sheets and kicked off his pants- he never liked sleeping with clothes- and let out a loud sigh.

No one heard him, of course.

Harry wriggled around for what felt like an hour before he shot straight up from the bed, forehead coated in sweat.

“I can’t do this anymore!” Harry shouted to the open air. A silence rang around him. Harry could not stand one more second of lying there. He had to get out.

Harry stumbled off the bed and tugged on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that had been lying on the small armchair in the corner. He searched blindly in the dark for a moment for his keys and a gun (not exactly casual, but Harry’s too used to it) before his hands glossed over the cool surfaces of both items. He concealed the gun in his shirt and headed out his bedroom. With a quick check to make sure his kitchen stove was off, Harry slipped on his shoes and socks, before his hands grasped the metal of the doorknob. His eyes were immediately greeted by the searing light of the apartment halls, but they were a relieving freedom compared to how entrapping the darkness within Harry’s bedroom was. 

The apartment complex was silent. All that could be heard was the fizzling hum of the electricity and the occasional grunt of the water pipes. Harry opted for the stairs, his feet clomping satisfyingly along the concrete steps until he reached the ground level. He pushed his way out of the exit, and was greeted by fresh breath of night air. Well, morning air.

Harry was the kind of guy one would expect to frequent the pub at this hour. However, only close friends knew that Harry prefered the quiet. Pubs were nothing but a crowded sweaty mess where people lost their troubles by drowning them out with louder sounds. Harry prefered the silence, where his problems stood loud but clear in his head.

Harry rounded the streets by his apartment. Contrary to his job, Harry lived in a rather family like area, with lit streets and trimmed grass. It helped him escape, if just superficially. 

As Harry circled the neighborhood, he couldn’t get the yearning feeling to _do something_. He felt useless and restless wandering around. He knew he would get another job tomorrow, and would wake up with dark bags under his eyes. But, no matter what, Harry just couldn’t stop feeling restless.

Harry’s phone rang.

The tinkling generic ringtone that Harry never bothered to change was a unkind reminder to Harry that reality would always be chasing his tail, but at the moment, it drew him out of his winding despair. 

“Hello?”

“Harry.”

His dad. Great. Nothing quite like a job at three in the morning. 

“That’s me.”

“Good.” his dad said. Harry thought he heard a trace of surprise in his dad’s voice, probably because Harry hardly ever answered his dad’s three o’clock calls, and thus most of those jobs were given to some of the others that were awake at odd hours of the night. 

Harry has always wondered who were the poor souls who pulled off all the night shifts. Well, now he knew. 

“I’ve got a quick one down at the Ervenmier Pub. You know that one?”

Harry nodded.

“Harry?”

“Oh-yeah,” Harry said, forgetting his dad can’t actually see him nod. It often strikes him odd how he still forgets these things even after living on the earth for more than two decades.

“Okay, good. I’ve got word that a couple of the goons from Keithahn will be there tonight.”

Typically, Harry would at least crack a smile at his dad saying _goon,_ but goon happened to be the perfect word to describe the low life Keithahns. Although Harry hated to admit it, clans like his and the Trinity were respectable (in his point of view) versus the dirty playing lower clans that gave a bad name to mafias. Sure, they all committed crimes, but it was groups like the Keithahns that didn’t play fair or nice on any standard. 

“Now, there’s a chance the Keithahns won’t be there,” Harry’s dad added. “But if they are, take out who you can _without_ -” Harry’s dad stressed the word “-without causing a ruckus. Make it discrete, you got that?”

“Yes sir.”

Harry’s dad seemed satisfied. “Alright. Off you go.” With that, the line fell dead. Harry sighed.

So much for a peaceful walk.

He turned around back to his flat, climbed into his car, and drove out into the city. Before long, the quiet sleepy neighborhood faded into the bright awake city. It took a little bit of driving back and forth before Harry came across the familiar neon sign that glowed _Ervenmier._ He parked his car at the side of the road and got out, walking to his trunk. In the dark of the night, Harry inconspicuously slipped a firearm into his belt, before shutting the trunk and breathing in the night air. If air were a color, it smelt grey and smoky.

The bar looked like just another business that blended into the tall walls that bordered London’s sidewalks. People milled about on the sidewalks, some walking into lit buildings, and others into dark ones. 

Harry approached the bar. 

He flashed his ID at the entrance, before stumbling into the sweaty darkness with only the chest throbbing music to add color and light the room. Bodies mingled and wriggled around Harry, mixing and matching cheap and expensive perfumes. He felt as if he were trapped in one of those kids playhouses, with foam ropes dangling and odd objects as obstacles blocking him from his destination.

Harry decided to settle at the bar and order a nice drink. Chances were that the Keithahns weren’t even here tonight, so Harry might as well enjoy his task while he’s at it. 

When he finally grasped a torn leather stool at the bar, he ordered an interesting looking strawberry drink in a tall thin glass, asking for the guy to go light on the alcohol. The bartender had rolled his eyes. Harry scoffed internally. He wanted to be a little buzzed, but not a stumbling drunk in case if the Keithahns did show up.

Harry gazed out towards the dance floor as he sipped at his drink. It was a cool buffer to the hot and stuffy club, and was sweet and delicate; the complete opposite of where he was. A few flashes of light on the whites of people’s eyes told him that he had some gawkers, although none of them approached him. _Good._

All was well, and soon enough, Harry felt his butt and legs getting sore and falling asleep on the stool. He just about called it quits when he spied a familiar brown haired head on the opposite side of the bar.

The man was in a large jacket, inconspicuously covering the damn _three month along_ bump on his belly. Perhaps Harry should have made a smarter move, but all he saw was the same strawberry drink sitting in front of Louis Tomlinson.

_Fetal Alcohol Syndrome._

Harry pushed off his stool and swam through the crowd of people until he stood right in front of the man he had just encountered a week ago.

Louis begun to take another sip before feeling the glare beside him. He looked up.

“Styles?”

Louis’ voice was quiet within the room filled with thumping music, but Harry couldn’t miss the slight alarm in his voice. To be fair, they rarely met under the right circumstances. Ever.

Harry wasn’t sure how to go about this. _Why in the world are you drinking?! _reminded Harry too much of his own mother, but yet_ Hey, go light on the drinks, cool?_ would get nothing accomplished. Harry settled for the in between.

“People shouldn’t drink during pregnancy.”

Louis snorted.

“You sound like my mother.” Okay, so maybe Harry wasn’t in between _enough._ However, Louis set down his drink and stared Harry right in the eye. 

“There’s no vodka in it,” Louis said, not letting his stare waver. Harry felt foolish. Of course, Louis was a responsible adult, why would he have gotten alcohol? But, then again, he did attempt to smoke the last them they saw each other. 

“And why are you here, Styles? Here to foil my plans again?” Louis set his lips in a firm line. Harry’s brain caught up with Louis’ words.

“What plans?” Harry asked, lost. The chances of them both out here to catch Keithahn was slim, considering how the Keithahns were a nuisance at most. 

Louis rolled his eyes.

“Making a deal with the Keithahns, although-” Louis frowned “-they are incredibly late. Beyond fashionably late.”

Harry frowned. Something seemed off here.

When Louis returned to take another sip of his drink, Harry noted whimsically that the club had built in a disco ball of sorts, as he watched a dot of red light settle on Louis’ chest. 

No, wait. There was just one light. And it was red. And it didn’t move.

“Duck!” Harry yelled. Louis’ eyes went wide at Harry’s exclamation. Harry took charge, grabbing onto Louis and bringing him to the ground just as Louis’ drink shattered into a million shards of glass.

Then the bullets and screaming came.

Several more glasses broke as people trampled towards the entrance, only to face more firing bullets from the rooftops ahead. Louis wriggled under Harry, pushing him off.

“What the fuck?!” Louis cried with fury in his eyes, only to give a small _oh_ as he saw his glass. He turned to look suspiciously at Harry.

“You knew about this?!” he shouted over the music that still played in the background. Harry shook his head frantically. Louis cursed under his breath as a familiar dark haired individual ran up to them. 

“Zayn,” Louis breathed out in relief. It was cut off as a bullet fired right in between them. Zayn’s eyes were wild with panic.

“Lou, we gotta get out of here,” he said, grabbing Louis’ wrist. He narrowed his eyes at Harry.

“If I find out you had anything to do with this, I’ll-”

“He’s good, Zayn,” Louis hissed, pulling him away from Harry. “Come on, we need to find the Keithahns. They have to be behind this.”

“But why?” Zayn looked to the ceiling exasperated. 

“We’ll find out. See you, Styles,” Louis said, before edging with Zayn to the back of the club. Harry stood frozen for a few minutes, before kicking into action. He helped herd as many people as he could towards the entrance, where gunfire had largely ceased. As soon as his skin graced cold air, he sighed in relief. Outside, the police had already arrived. Judging by their frantic calls, they were real police, not ones employed by the Keithahns. Paramedics too raced to load the injured into gurneys. So far, Harry’s seen no one covered in a white cloth. 

“Sir, are you injured?” a paramedic scanned over Harry as Harry shook his head. No, he just needed a long talk with his father about the credibility of his information.

The paramedic went on to the next person, asking the same question. Harry couldn’t help but dart his eyes around, looking for a familiar brown haired head. He didn’t see him.

Harry shook his head. He needed to report back to his father. As he headed down the street, a yell echoed through the night, and then there was an explosion.  
Harry stared wide eyed behind him as the bar went up in flames and people screamed, scattering away. Harry’s legs backpedaled as his mind reeled. Then, he ran away.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thank you so much for reading! Comment below if you saw any grammar errors, or just want to say something! I love comments!! Also, please leave a kudos if you liked it :)


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